Fortune's Fools
by Delylah
Summary: A collection of drabbles from the Revolution universe, mostly Charloe (Charlie Matheson x Bass Monroe) related. Some are pre-ship, some are shippy. (this story used to be titled "The Second Time" but that is now the first chapter)
1. The Second Time

**Author's Note:**

This ficlet was inspired by a post on Tumblr and it has been previously posted there, so you may have already seen it. This is a missing moment from Monroe's POV, just before and after he rescues Charlie from being gang-raped.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no rights to these characters. I don't even claim the situation they find themselves in, I just decided to elaborate on it somewhat. Please don't sue. I am broke.

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><p><strong>The Second Time<strong>

Bass had been tracking Charlie for the better part of the afternoon and evening when he spotted the small village up ahead at a crossroads. He brought the horses to a halt and pulled out the binoculars he'd found with the bounty hunter's gear to get a better look before he approached. The village consisted of a handful of run-down houses and a couple of storefronts; the surrounding countryside was once farmland, dotted here and there with barns, silos, and farm houses that were rotting away from lack of upkeep, slowly being devoured by the overgrown vegetation.

Charlie had walked away from him with just the clothes on her back, no pack, and likely no weapon. She had to stop somewhere for food. There were lights on in the windows of one of the storefronts; a sign outside proclaimed it to be the "Hole in the Wall." She would probably take her chances there. Bass left the horses tethered outside of a nearby pole barn, most of which was still standing, and walked the rest of the way to the village.

He didn't like the looks of the place. It was quiet enough, but something about it made him uneasy. His fingers alternately clenched and unclenched the grip of his machete as he drew closer to the village. The sun had set an hour ago, and he thought he much preferred the noise and chaos of New Vegas to the oppressive darkness and silence of villages like this one.

He chided himself for being foolish. He was tired and hungry, and his patience had run out. He hoped Charlie was in there, and that she would listen to reason this time. However, if she wasn't going to cooperate, he was perfectly willing to knock her out, tie her up and drag her ass back to the cart. He could talk some sense into her on their way back to wherever Miles was.

While he was still some distance from the bar, the sound of glass shattering broke the stillness. Bass stopped in his tracks; even from his current distance he could detect the sounds of a scuffle inside. His unease bloomed into full on panic as he broke into a dead run.

"God damn you, Charlotte, what the hell have you got yourself into now?" he growled to himself. When he reached the front of the building he noticed that the scuffling sounds had ceased and felt a moment's relief, thinking perhaps the noise had simply been a brief disagreement between some of the patrons. He paused at the broken window to assess the situation. Charlie was inside, backed up against a wall, looking dazed as she swayed on her feet. She was surrounded by four men who were inching toward her warily, their intent clear.

General Sebastian Monroe saw red as he kicked in the front door.

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><p>"Charlotte? Wake up, Charlotte. You need to wake up!"<p>

Bass kneeled down beside the girl and grasped her shoulders to shake her gently. Charlie's head lolled back, and she offered no resistance. She appeared to be unconscious. Bass released her shoulders and reached for her wrist, intending to check her pulse. Instead, he froze as his fingers traced across raised lines on the underside of her forearm. Slowly he turned her wrist so that the palm of her hand faced upward.

"Aw, fuck," he swore softly as he gazed at the shiny, pink scar that marred her skin, an M inscribed inside of three-quarters of a circle. Somehow, somewhere she'd been branded with the mark of his militia. As if she needed another reason to hate him. As if he needed another reason to hate himself.

He shook his head and shifted his fingers to the pulse point at her wrist instead. There would be time for self-recrimination later, after he'd finished rescuing her. Her pulse was slower than normal, but steady, and she seemed to be breathing okay. He couldn't see any signs of injury. The bastards must have drugged her.

"Come on, Charlotte, wake up. Wake up, Charlotte!" he demanded, slapping her face lightly.

Charlie moaned and opened her eyes briefly, but did not rouse any further. Bass didn't have time to wait her to regain consciousness. They needed to leave before someone else came along and noticed a half dozen dead bodies in the joint. To buy some time, he closed the front door and blocked it with a table. Next, he retrieved his machetes and wiped the blood away before he sheathed them. A cursory search of the bodies revealed an assortment of knives, a couple of flasks and a dozen or so small diamonds. Bass pocketed the stones and the flasks. Only one of the knives was worth keeping, which he tucked into his boot. Finally, he kicked open the rear exit before returning to Charlie. Crouching beside her, he lifted her into his arms and cradled her close to his chest as he stood to keep her head from flopping back like a ragdoll's. Her vulnerability left him unsettled; he'd never seen her so helpless. not even with a gun in her face, or when she was tied up in an empty swimming pool with her worst enemy. She should be awake and on her feet, her frosty blue eyes glaring defiantly at him.

Bass carried her to the door he had kicked open and peered outside. The quiet was absolute, and he suspected he may have just killed half of the population of this godforsaken little village. All the same, they needed to get away quickly and quietly, and he didn't want to be caught unable to draw his weapon. Bass released his hold on Charlie's legs and braced her up against the doorframe. Then he bent his shoulder to her waist and hoisted her into a fireman's carry that would leave one arm free for his sword, should he need it. Her weight threw him off balance enough that he stumbled momentarily. He shifted her into a better position and chuckled softly.

"You know Charlotte," he said, smiling faintly at the thought of the sharp retort she was currently unable to give, "you're heavier than you look." As he wrapped his left arm securely around the backs of her thighs, he knew why. They were corded with long, lean muscle that spoke of regular physical exertion.

Bass glanced one last time around the shabby bar to take stock. He'd killed six men for her, two of which she'd managed to incapacitate on her own before the drugs the cowards had given her overcame her. As he carried her away into the night, he realized he was strangely proud of her.

It was too bad he couldn't tell her that.


	2. As We Forgive Our Debtors

**Author's Note:** I wanted to write something 2x14'ish, so this drabble happened. This story used to be called "The Second Time", but I've changed the name so it will match up with the one at A03, making it a collection of not-necessarily related drabbles. They probably all take place in the same universe, but I doubt they will ever make a coherent story. Chapter 1 of Crazy Train is on the way, I hope to have it completed tomorrow. Haven't forgotten about The Rescuers, either.

**Summary: **This drabble happens just after the fight in 2x14 but before they all meet up back at Duncan's camp.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters. They belong to Kripke, NBC, JJ Abrams, whoever, just not me.

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><p><strong>As We Forgive Our Debtors<strong>

After Charlie released Monroe and Connor, and Duncan and her men had killed Gould and all of his guards, Duncan led them all back to her camp. Charlie fell back several paces before she veered off on her own, hoping no one would notice her absence. She needed to retrieve the rest of her clothing and her shoes, and she preferred to do it alone. She didn't feel like answering questions or dealing with anyone's looks of pity.

She should have known better. Monroe caught up to her not a minute after she split off from the rest of the group, but he didn't say a word, didn't ask her where she was going. When they arrived at the trailer, he barred her from entering. Instead, he walked in alone first. She followed after a moment, noting the clenched fists at his sides and his tense posture as he observed the rumpled bedding, the strangled corpse, and the chains on the floor.

"Hey, you know he didn't-" she began, but he cut her off.

"I know," he said shortly. He glanced at her, then flicked his eyes away quickly. "You did good. Get dressed."

The quarters were too cramped for him to exit without brushing up against her as he sidled past, leaving her with goosebumps on her flesh. She dressed hurriedly, anxious to leave the filthy trailer behind as quickly as possible. When she stepped outside again, he was leaning back with one foot propped on the side of the trailer, waiting for her. He fell into step at her right side as they headed to Duncan's camp together.

"How'd you get caught?" he asked in a conversational tone after they had been walking several minutes.

For a moment, Charlie wrestled with the notion of telling him the truth. "Doesn't matter," she said finally. "Everything turned out alright in the end, didn't it?"

He gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "Never thought you'd cover for Duncan. Do you honestly expect me to believe she didn't hand you over to Gould?"

"Maybe if you'd treated her like a decent human being in the first place, I wouldn't have to," she retorted.

"Maybe if you hadn't come hunting for me, I wouldn't have left," he countered darkly.

That brought Charlie up short; she hadn't thought about the fact that she was the one who had lured him out, making him an easy target for the bounty hunters. That was likely the last time Duncan had seen him until two nights ago. _No wonder she was so angry,_ Charlie thought.

She and Monroe continued walking together in silence until they neared the bonfire at the camp. Charlie welcomed the wave of heat and the scent of woodsmoke that greeted them, even from several yards away. Connor was already seated nearby, hungrily devouring a plate of food as he carefully observed his surroundings. Duncan was deep in conversation with a group of men, but she looked over as they approached, nodding once at Charlie. Monroe started toward Connor, but there was something Charlie needed to say to him first.

"Wait," she said quietly. Monroe halted in his tracks and turned back in her direction, looking at her quizzically with his hands shoved in his front pockets.

Charlie cleared her throat nervously, but her voice was still husky when she spoke.

"I never thanked you, before, at that bar. Or any of the other times," she added. She took a deep breath before continuing. "So…thank you. Even though I don't understand why."

He took a step toward her, watching her warily, as if he expected her to attack him if he let his guard down.

"You don't have to thank me, Charlie," he said. "I should be thanking you. You didn't have to come back.

He glanced briefly over his shoulder at Connor before adding, "I'm glad you did."

Then he folded his arms against his chest and looked down for such a long moment that Charlie couldn't decide if he was debating with himself or if he was just done talking. She started to move past him but he put his hand on her arm to stop her, and when he spoke again it was in such a low voice she had to strain to hear.

"As for why," he began, pausing to finally look up and meet her eyes with the intense gaze that had begun to haunt her waking thoughts and her dreams, "maybe I just think you're worth saving.

He turned and walked away to join Connor at the bonfire before she could reply. She hoped he already knew what he didn't give her the chance to say: the feeling was mutual.


	3. A Conversation I Just Can't Have Tonight

**Author's Note:** This was written in response to a prompt from an anon on Tumblr requesting Charlie on watch while everyone is sleeping, and hearing Bass say her name in his sleep.

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><p><strong>But It's A Conversation I Just Can't Have Tonight<strong>

Charlie hated having second watch. Third watch was easy, it was just a matter of getting up a couple of hours early. First watch wasn't bad either, she just had to stay awake an extra couple of hours until it was time to wake her relief. Second watch was hell; it meant that someone came and shook her out of a too-short sleep, usually not long after she'd managed to reach the point of complete relaxation rather than the restless twilight stage where she was on some level still aware of her surroundings. Even worse, Bass had a tendency to take more extreme measures if his target didn't wake quickly enough. He'd never kicked her, but she had woken to water being splashed on her face more than once. Then he'd laughed when she'd cursed at him.

Tonight instead of shaking her he nudged her with the tip of his boot against her backside, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to be annoying. She shifted onto her back with growl and rubbed her eyes, blinking up at him. The firelight exaggerated the shadows and angles of his face, lending him the appearance of the monstrous General Monroe that had once fueled her nightmares.

"Get up, Charlotte. It's your watch," he said gruffly.

Without offering her a hand to help her stand, or even waiting to see if she was completely conscious, he walked to his own bedroll, placed well away from the rest of their group. She watched him go, wondering if it was paranoia, self-preservation or just plain avoidance that drove him to sleep separately from the rest. Grumbling softly, she wrapped herself in her bedroll and propped herself against a wagon wheel in front of the fire, mentally beginning the first chapter of _The Hobbit_ in an attempt to stay awake

By the time Gandalf, Bilbo and the dwarves made it to Rivendell, Charlie was nodding off. The heat from the fire, combined with her exhaustion from the day's ride and the remaining alcohol in her system, was making her drowsy. She and Connor had shared stories and a flask all evening while Bass looked on. She'd asked him to tell them stories about what the world was like before the power went out, but he'd declined, giving some bullshit excuse about being too old to remember. Instead he'd drunk steadily from his own flask, smiling occasionally at their antics, but the alcohol seem to have the opposite effect on him than it did on either her or Connor. Where they became increasingly relaxed and silly, Bass instead became pensive.

When she had turned in for the night, he'd acknowledged her with a nod but had been unwilling to meet her eyes. She thought maybe he was still holding a grudge that Duncan had put the mercs under her command rather than his. Stealing his flask seemed like an appropriate punishment, and she needed to stretch her legs anyway. After checking over the rest of the camp to make sure everything was secure, she crept soundlessly over to where Bass lay, as if she were stalking a deer. However, unlike the rest, he was not sleeping quietly; he was instead thrashing occasionally in his bedroll. As she drew nearer, she could hear him muttering faintly.

_"No. Don't,"_ he murmured. His chest rose and fell rapidly.

Charlie felt a pang of empathy for him. She was only just now getting to the point where she didn't wake screaming more nights than not, either reliving Danny's death, or Nora's, or one of the countless horrible things that had happened over the past year and a half. Being buried alive beneath a mountain of rubble was a frequent one, too.

_General Sebastian Monroe suffers from nightmares. Who knew? _

Of course, when she thought about it, it made sense. He had likely seen as many horrors as he had committed, and going by what Miles had shared with her, his life before the blackout had been no picnic in the sunshine, either. She abandoned the childish plan to steal what was likely one of his few sources of comfort. _Let him have his drink. Sometimes I want to drink away my nightmares, too. _She turned to go back to her spot at the wagon, but his next utterance stopped her in her tracks.

_"No. No! Charlie!"_

His voice was pitched higher this time; her name a cry of despair. She couldn't help herself. Even as she realized it was likely a bad idea, she knelt down beside him and gently shook his shoulder.

"Bass, you ok?"

Without warning he grabbed her upper arms and rolled her under him, pinning her in place with his forearm and body weight. Before she could utter a sound his knife was at her throat instead of in its holster. His eyes darted around furiously, still seeing invisible horrors instead of Charlie or their camp site. His sides were heaving as if he had been running. When he pressed the knife into her skin, Charlie fought the panicked urge to ram her knee into his crotch. Instead, she called his name softly.

"Bass. Bass, look at me."

He did as she asked, but his eyes were still wild, and she could tell he wasn't actually seeing her; he was still lost in his nightmare. She brought her hands up and pressed them gently against the sides of his face, keeping his gaze focused on hers. "It's just me, Bass. It's me. It's Charlie," she said calmly.

The sound of her own name seemed to do the trick; sanity gradually returned to his expression. He flicked his eyes from her face to his knife, which he then he hurled it away. But instead of rolling off of her, he lowered his face into the curve of her neck and shoulder and exhaled deeply. Tentatively, she slid her hands around his shoulders. In response, he tucked one hand behind her head, grasped her waist with the other and tugged, rolling her with him until they were on their sides, her head pillowed on his arm. She could have extricated herself easily if she wanted, but she didn't, yet. They lay that way for several moments, hearts drumming in sync, until Charlie felt compelled to break the silence.

"Bass, what were you-" she began nervously, but he interrupted.

"Charlotte…don't. Either get up and walk away, or shut up and let me hold you for a few more minutes. Your choice," he said in a rough voice edged with exhaustion. His breathing was still ragged, disturbed by whatever he had experienced in his dreamscape. When she didn't move to roll away from him, he shifted his hand to the small of her back and tugged her closer before resting his forehead against hers. Closing his eyes, he breathed a sigh of relief.

After a moment of deliberation, Charlie relaxed into his embrace, molding her body to his. There she stayed until his breaths were deep and even. Realizing he'd fallen asleep, she pulled back a fraction and studied his face carefully, searching for a trace of the monster she hated in the man who sought comfort in her arms. Finding none, she explored the lines of his face with her fingertips before leaning in to press her lips gently against his. His fingers tightened reflexively against her back.

_"Mmm. Charlie?" _ he murmured, and the rumble of his voice spurred an electric charge that began in the base of her spine where his hand was splayed and spiraled outward to the rest of her. For a moment, she was tempted.

__No thinking. _No talking. Just bodies in motion._

But instead, she whispered, "Shh. You're dreaming."

When he was quiet again, she wriggled out of his embrace as carefully as she could so as not to wake him. Then she went back to the wagon to finish her watch and wound up taking Connor's, too.

She had a lot to think about.

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><p>*I don't remember if the Lord of the Rings books being one of the textbooks Aaron used is canon or fanon (if it's fanon, I apologize to whomever I stole it from and will give proper credit to you if you let me know)<p>

**Title obviously ripped from Florence and the Machine's "No Light, No Light"

Reviews are love. Constructive criticism is deeply appreciated.


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